Traitors of a Sort
by The Fields of Asphodel
Summary: United we stand, divided we fall. The Noble House of Black, from legends to failures all in a generation.


**Traitors of a Sort**

_United we stand, divided we fall_

They are all traitors.

Traitors to their heritage, traitors to their blood, traitors to the mandate their ancestors swore to a thousand years ago to protect the innocent. And yet the Noble House of Black knows no more a diverse generation of contradictions than the ones that ends the purest of lines. They are the last of the Blacks - and by far the most enthralling.

There is a picture that hangs, somewhat crooked, dusty and forgotten in one of the many hallways that connect the once grand manor house. Time has tarnished its silver frame and walked its hands over the dull paper, leaving black smudges for fingerprints. Although animated by magic the photograph's occupants have long since ceased the action of movement and now are frozen still, reminiscent of a muggle snap-shot. The paper the image is printed on has wrinkled and the ink has faded to grey but the figures are still recognisable, forever trapped behind layers of dust.

Lurking at the very back, face contorted into a look of pretence boredom masking another, crueller emotion shifts a boy of no more than fifteen. His features are blotted out by obscure shadows, just as most of his future will be, but his dark looks and strong jaw are still yet discernible. Out of all of the characters encased in silver only Sirius' eyes betray traces of the playfulness and laughter he spreads to all who do not judge him based on blood.

His lips are curled into a twisted, ironic smile as he looks directly toward the camera. It is the same smile he will wear when the Ministry arrest him for the murder of his two closest friends years later; the very smirk that will dance on the corners of his mouth as he falls through the arch in the Department of Mysteries battling against the very people he is photographed with now.

He will smile his bitter smile and bark out a mangled laugh for when the world comes crashing down at your feet, what is there left to do but applauded your adversary? Out of all of the inhabitants of that tarnished photograph it is Sirius who comes to best understand the ill luck that hides in the shadow of a Black. He sees the bitter irony and he laughs.

Tall and lean, a girl with a mane of brown curl towers over the shadow of her cousin as she stands beside him. Andromeda's face is set in stone as she stares impassively towards to lens, not flinching as the light flashes. She is by far the tallest, a situation the middle child (for what are they, but children?) finds quite to her advantage. Even Bellatrix with all her haughtiness and her fancy curses does not dare cross the expressionless, seemingly emotionless girl. With grey eyes cold and hard as steel, a bone structure which in the gloom gives her a harsh, white pallor no-one shall ever guess.

They call her formidable and scramble out of her way in corridors and stare at her in a strangled silence. In a way, with all her icy determination and cold disposition Andromeda Black is feared even more than eccentric Bella. But the quietest sister does not mind the frightened stares of her classmates or the hushed whispers that cling to her every footfall – for no-one will ever dare guess. No-one will ever know of the engagement ring that hangs on a silver chain, kept warm by the steady pulse of her heart. No-one will ever question the existence of the bags she keeps packed in her closet in anticipation of the day when Ted will arrive to wish her away into her own fairy-tale.

She is Andromeda, filled with cold resolution and armed with an expressionless mask. No-one will know that she, the perfect Black, is the secret keeper until she is already gone. She has heard the Greek tale of Andromeda before and has no desire to remain chained.

Regulus Black is positioned between the secret-keeper and his brother, the youngest's shoulders set straight and his body rigid. However, unlike Andromeda his eyes are constantly shifting and he seems to ooze tension rather than the cool indifference his cousin displays. He may appear Sirius's carbon copy, save the softer jawline and the thin, delicate eyebrows, but in mannerism the two could not be more separate. While Sirius' obvious annoyance and bitter humour shine through Regulus appears nothing but uncomfortable.

His dark eyes flick back and forth between the three other standing cousins and he faces partly away from the camera, captured glancing through Bella. Despite his hesitance and obvious discomfort at being positions between the Gryffindor troublemaker and the iron princess his blackest of eyes betray a vital need to prove himself and his fingers twitch towards his wand.

There is a fight in him yet – not Bella's kind of explosiveness or his brother's blind need for incredibly dangerous and yet exhilarating stunts, not even Andromeda's silent, invisible rebellion – but a sly, clever kind of fight that is more acutely described as a game. Regulus may be a coward, barely able to face his own family congregated together in one room, but he is a hazardous kind of coward for he is not a fool. Perhaps it is just possible that of all his relations it is fearful, hesitant Regulus Black that is the most dangerous, for he alone possesses Slytherin's true cunning.

Bellatrix stands proud, her graceful head held aloft for the entire world to admire. Her hair tumbles down her perfectly straight back in a torrent of black curls. Her eyes are as dark as night and glitter intensely as she sneers towards the lens. Like a queen inspecting her servants with distaste her lips curl at the corners, exposing a hint of pearly white teeth. Her entire frame crackles with fire, raw passion burning through her veins.

While Andromeda's stare may chill one to the bone Bella's gaze, coupled with her howling laughter, holds a person ensnared like a rabbit caught in a trap. A brief sheen of madness lights her features occasionally, giving her the look of one possessed. And yet, despite the path of destruction she leaves in her wake, Bellatrix is the least illusive of her House. Maybe that is precisely why she will become so much more infamous than the rest of her family: a black flame that darkens even the brightest of days.

The last figure is the first to be noticed. Her shock of white blond hair immediately catches the eye, a contrast with the dark looks of her blood. Narcissa appears like an angel cloaked in white when compared with the black demons she sits among. Her face is surprisingly blank, eyes empty of any kind of overwhelming emotion that is present in all the others photographed. She too holds her head high though more in a last, futile attempt to fit in than due to any kind of passionate belief in pureblood stature. It's how she has been taught to act; therefore it is what she does. She had always been meek Narcissa and it's what she will continue to be until that one fatal moment.

Later, no-one will understand why she does it. She is pretty, perfect, breakable Narcissa; she is Cissy who does what she is told and follows orders. Cissy who is as blank as she first appears – who harbours no secret, who has no burning desires. Maybe that is why she lets Harry walk out of the lion's den unscathed. Maybe weak, bland Narcissa is tired of following orders, of waiting in fear, of always wondering if her son still lives. Maybe she's done with living in Bellatrix's shadow and sick of secretly admiring Andromeda. Maybe she misses Sirius and wishes that Regulus made different choices.

Or maybe, just possibly, Narcissa Malfoy (_Black_, always a _Black_) is tired of looking special without actually being special. Perhaps she's finished with hiding in the skin of a demon whilst pretending to be an angel. Maybe, for just once, she wants a taste of the glory and freedom every other sibling and cousin has had. Maybe Narcissa just wants to be a hero, even if only for a minute. Maybe she discovers that burning passion that separates the Blacks in that moment – an overwhelming concern for Draco's safety.

Five silent children stare towards the camera.

Each has a story, each has a future. For a little while they stand united as a solid front of deadly black facing the wide, colourful world from the threshold of that manor. But that was of an age past – an age in which Andromeda smiled freely and Sirius actually spoke to Regulus and Bella was kind and Cissy opinionated.

But that has all been erased now; even this photograph no longer captures the ease in which they once interacted.

Of that original five few remain; three lie cold where they fell and now only two bleak, washed out grey figures are left battered by the winds. The dark they were cloaked in has faded and they face the storm of life alone and defenceless.

And so ends the Noble House of Black, a group of divided failures.


End file.
